


Your Medicine, My Poison

by Ottway (triebwerke)



Series: Drowning In Your Ocean [3]
Category: Fallout 3
Genre: Banter, DIYO-Verse, Drama, Established Relationship, Father/Son Incest, Guilt, M/M, Medical Kink, Parent/Child Incest, Porn with Sprinkles of Plot, Sequel, Vault 101 - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:33:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21924463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triebwerke/pseuds/Ottway
Summary: “I’m sorry. I’m just very busy at the moment, but I promise, I’ll be there tomorrow,” he apologizes and his muscles tense when his son’s delicate fingers trace along the lapel of his lab coat.“Ah, forget it. You’re here now, that’s what counts,” says the other and James doesn’t like the coy glimmer in his teal eyes, not when it isn’t dark.…James gets a surprise visit from his son at the clinic.
Relationships: James/Lone Wanderer, James/Male Lone Wanderer
Series: Drowning In Your Ocean [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1574749
Comments: 12
Kudos: 11
Collections: Stories About Incest





	Your Medicine, My Poison

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to 'Our Divine Damnation'. Can technically be read as a stand alone, but I would still advise to read ODD beforehand for better understanding.
> 
> *
> 
> This fic is best read while listening to [‘Purify’ by Placebo](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZqqerUanIJc).

James heaves a long sigh of relief after he’s finally typed the last line of his report. He stretches out, then sinks back into his chair before he takes a sip from the bottle of Nuka-Grape standing on his desk, right next to an empty plate where a sandwich used to lounge on until a couple of minutes ago.

He closes his eyes, feeling as if the bright, bilious green letters on the terminal have carved themselves into his lids. He turns on the fan opposite of beverage and plate, and for a moment James indulges in memories of standing on the shore surrounding the Jefferson Memorial, the wind in his hair and the salty taste of a fresh breeze on his tongue. And then the little daydream becomes bitter when James remembers that, not only is he never going to experience breathing fresh air again and not oxygen which has been recycled over and over for 200 years, but that Tommy isn’t going to either and can’t even remember he once did.

_Tommy’s never going to feel earth and gravel beneath his naked feet._

_Tommy’s never going to feel the warmth of the sun touching his pale skin._

_Tommy’s never going to dive into pure waters and swim_.

_And whose fault is that?_

_No!_ Violently James shoves his conscience back into its cage at the back of his head like he’s done it for the past nineteen years.

He blinks reluctantly, the glaring, artificial light the terminal and the ceiling emit makes his retinas ache.

Project Purity… James has to admit, it’s nowhere near where he thought it’d be after all this time.

While his progress may have had a short boost when Jonas joined, since the last two years it has been as good as stagnant.

Every new theory, every experiment has only led him from one dead end to another thus far, which is partially because he also has to be there for his patients and most importantly his son and can’t focus on his work as much as he wants to, but also due to the stress caused by researching in secret and in constant fear of Almodovar might turning out to be a better Overseer than assumed.

He can’t fight the feeling he would be doing a lot better if he’d let Tommy in on it though; the boy’s understanding of technology and machines is simply exceptional after all.

At times James even gets a little jealous of him, considering his son spits out blue prints for all kinds of upgrades for the vault – some small, some big – every few weeks like a slot machine does coins, all while his old man isn’t even close to finding the answer to his headscratcher. The only reason Tommy’s ideas fail just like his father’s is because Almodovar is too afraid of change to give allowance to make them happen.

It’s sad how they both share the same pain, have the same burning passion for improving the lives of others and yet James can’t tell his son he understands his feelings more than he thinks he does.

And what’s even sadder is the awareness of how much Tommy would thrive on being part of this mammoth project, how happy it would make James himself to work on it with a person he loves again and how much higher their chances for success would be.

But this would require him to tell Tommy the truth, shatter everything the boy thinks he knows about the tiny hole in the ground that is his whole world… which, in the worst case, could destroy their bond forever.

James can’t let that happen, especially not when there’s not even a single spark of hope that he could create a liveable spot for them in the cruel wastes above to cling onto.

So he buries himself in his work like never before.

It’s lunch time but instead of joining everyone else at the diner to enjoy a piece of synthetic lasagna, James deciphered Jonas’ handwriting and wrote an entry about yet another failed experiment in hope he might figure out what went wrong and how to do it better next time. But all the effort and the waiver of a good meal turned out to be for nothing, for James is none the wiser.

At least he got done with the damn thing pretty fast, meaning he still has some time left to take a short break from racking his brains until the other dwellers start attending to their duties again.

James sighs.

He sure as hell doesn’t mind not having to listen to Almodovar giving lectures between every bite, or Mary Holden and Gloria Mack chattering like magpies, or Christine Kendall finding a thousand things to criticize about the food, or the constant ‘Tunnel Snakes Rule!’ chants which reverberate off the walls and make James relate far too well to what had led to the infamous sweetroll incident on his son’s 10th birthday.

What he _does_ miss though is Tommy’s company. Ever since that one night it’s like James can’t form a coherent thought without his presence.

He’s hardly been able to focus on his work today. The reason he can’t seem to make sense out of the current experiment’s failure is because all the time his thoughts had drifted off to wondering what Tommy might be doing at the moment, how his day has been so far, if he’s saddened by his absence in the diner.

Even before all _this_ , before they’d acted on their shameful feelings for one another and even before said feelings sprouted, he often thought about Tommy when he wasn’t around, but now it’s an entirely different thing.

A new image pops up before his mind’s eye. James remembers how wonderful his son looked last night before he left to his own quarters, his flushed cheeks and parted lips, his sweat slick skin and tousled hair. He can’t wait until tonight, James realizes, and feels a sting of arousal between his legs.

But heat is quenched by shame and James curses himself for being such a weak, rotten man. He gave up on asking god for the strength to resist – instead he just added the guilt for his disgusting cravings towards his own flesh and blood to the long list of things he blocks out.

Sometimes that feels like the only thing he’s good at.

“Hi, Doc”

He’s surprised, really, when he leaves his office and finds Tommy leaning in the clinic’s entrance, looking a little sulky.

“I was wondering where you are,” explains his son, then furrows his brow. “Please, don’t tell me you skipped lunch just to work overtime again”

“I had a sandwich,” defends James himself but Tommy just shakes his head.

“You’re unbelievable,” mutters the younger man.

“Do you have any idea how terrible it is having lunch on my own? I actually have to listen to all the stupid stuff the others say! Beatrice kept nagging me until I let her read my palm while I was eating, can you believe that! And before I left, the Overseer found out Wally Mack stuck some chewing gum under the table and now he’s ranting and raving about common decency and offenses to America and all that crap,” complains Tommy with his arms akimbo, then his expression softens. “I just kept waiting for you to show up, you know. I worked my ass off in Maintenance and still have another long shit shift ahead of me – the only thing which kept me going was knowing I’d see your face in a few hours. I need my daily dose of James after all. And apart from that, you shouldn’t work so much, especially since it’s your _job_ to know how bad that is for your health”

A warm smile spreads on Tommy’s face and James can’t bring himself to take a step away when he gets closer to him.

“I’m sorry. I’m just very busy at the moment, but I promise, I’ll be there tomorrow,” he apologizes and his muscles tense when his son’s delicate fingers trace along the lapel of his lab coat.

“Ah, forget it. You’re here now, that’s what counts,” says the other and James doesn’t like the coy glimmer in his teal eyes, not when it isn’t dark.

“Actually, I did want to speak to you about something else. Medical matters, to be more precise. You think you might have some time for me despite your tight schedule?”

James raises an eyebrow. He has a guess about what Tommy is hinting at, but decides to go along with it in case he’s misinterpreting.

“I don’t see any way I could work you in there, unfortunately”

“What about right now?”

“Technically, I’m still on lunch break. Is it _that_ important?”

“Yes, _incredibly_ important!” assures Tommy, tilting his head and tugging a little at James’ lapel. He knows it’s inappropriate, but a part of him is convinced the gesture would just seem a bit weird to anyone who might catch them and not suspicious.

Thanks to two centuries of puritan propaganda, the vault dwellers have so little understanding of sex, the majority of them don’t even consider attraction between two people of the same gender – not to mention between father and son – biologically possible and would probably not be able to recognize it unless they’d catch him and Tommy with their jumpsuits down.

One night James accidentally ripped off a handful of the buttons of Tommy’s pajama shirt when he undressed him. Later, his son got caught on his way back home by Butch. The DeLoria boy had made a spiteful remark about Tommy having gone to his daddy to cry into his shoulder after a nightmare and that had been _it_ – either he hadn’t noticed the torn shirt or hadn’t cared about it.

Back then James had panicked when Tommy told him though, since this was as close to being found out as they’ve ever been so far.

Now on the other hand, the whole incident is just amusing to James, how the damn fool had no clue of how close his comment had been to the actual truth.

He and Tommy, they’re playing a very dangerous game and yet it seems to be so much easier than James expected.

“I’ve been feeling very funny,” admits the younger man. “I got an ache somewhere in my body, but can’t figure out where it’s coming from. I really need the help of a professional”

Okay, now he’s sure about what’s going on. James has been dealing with these ‘aches’ for months now.

Back then, when he still was a somewhat decent parent, Tommy had used these check-ups as a pretense to get touched by him.

The boy would always make James’ face become as red as a tato with his ambiguous remarks and his leering. It was incredibly frustrating back then already, ignoring the signals and most importantly their effect on his nether regions.

But now, now that they have broken the taboo, James is certain the other has more in mind than just teasing him during the examination.

“ _Tommy_ ” he scolds, hoping the tone of his voice is enough of a rejection and he won’t have to spell it out for him.

But as expected, the younger man remains persistent.

“Who knows what it could be? Perhaps it’s a third arm about to burst out from under my skin, a deadly disease, an allergic reaction or maybe I’m in labor?”

He regrets having to grin at that, even if only for a split second.

“We’ll do it later, tonight, okay?”

“I might not have enough time left until then! This ghastly, mysterious malady could carry me off any second!” replies his son as dramatically as if he’s starring in the vault’s annual Christmas play.

“Tommy!” utters James sternly. This is getting ridiculous.

“ _Please_ ,” begs the younger man, pouting his lips and fluttering his lashes. “Please, _Dr. Tacy_ , my life is in your hands!”

That’s new. While the magic word passes Tommy’s lips once in a blue moon, he’s never referred to James by his title before.

Somehow it sounds strange hearing it from him, even though most vault dwellers use it.

It’s… tempting.

God knows all activities in the vault come to a long halt whenever Almodovar forces everyone to listen to his moronic ramblings. They’d just might have enough time to–––

No. Too risky.

Ever since their very first mistake two weeks ago, they’ve kept to sharing intimacies only in the dark and the relative secureness of their homes. In the night James lets his son crawl into his bed and in the morning he prays, not for his own salvation but for Tommy’s.

It’s better this way, the secret they share is just too reprobate to risk being discovered. And yet James’ fingertips prickle with excitement at the thought of indulging in the best kind of activity in bright, artificial daylight. Because even after such a short time, the nightly visits are starting to become part of the never-ending routine they’re both so sick of.

And unfortunately it’s said prickle spreading through his body and the beseeching expression on Tommy’s face that is enough to make James crack.

With the tenderness of a father and a lover he cups his son’s chin and presses a soft kiss to his lips. And before the other even has the chance to pull him close and slide his tongue into his mouth, James has already made his way to lock the door to the clinic.

Tommy is seated on the examination table, which James hopes he’s successfully shielded from the windows with a folding screen, feet lazily dangling in the air as he’s waiting for his check-up.

The other’s wearing his workwear as well, which in Tommy’s case isn’t a pearly-white lab coat but worn-out red sneakers and a rumpled vault suit covered in dried oil stains – if these are new ones or not, James cannot tell.

When he looks closer he notices that his son’s hands are – in contrast to his attire – sparkling clean though; there isn’t even a single grain of dirt underneath his nails.

Not only that, but his hair is freshly combed and James is certain he’s smelling a faint touch of cologne, too, meaning Tommy must have spruced himself up for him.

“So tell me, where exactly does it hurt?” if he had a cap for every time he’s said that particular sentence…

“Somewhere in this area,” explains Tommy and draws a big circle around his loins. “Might be an urological problem…”

“Well, let’s just run a few tests and see if we can shed some light upon this matter,” utters James. For a second his gaze trails off to make sure the screen is properly positioned, it is in fact, but he continues to be highly doubtful of its constricting ability.

_Stop worrying. Almodovar is ranting about chewing gum, you have all the damn time in the world._

“Would you be so kind and open your mouth for me?”

His ‘patient’s eyes turn wide at that, only to narrow into slits when a thin wooden spatula presses down on his tongue instead of whatever body part of James he expected.

“Say ‘aahh’” commands James with a chuckle.

Now he gets what’s so fun about doing this.

“Aaahhhhhhffffhole,” replies his son, unable to hide he’s more impressed than annoyed by the unexpected move.

James is still unsure about how far he’s going to take this, whether the risk of getting caught is enough of a turn on for him to make yet another bad decision. However, he sure does enjoy toying with the other like this, some sweet revenge for all the teasing Tommy put him through the past half year.

“Your throat looks fine,” he notes as he withdraws the spatula.

“Wow, no way, Dr. Tacy!” remarks his patient sarcastically.

He chooses to ignore the comment and instead move on with the examination. Strangely enough, he’s never actually considered roleplaying or, to be more precisely, _playing doctor_ to be something he could see himself doing.

It shouldn’t surprise him though, Catherine’s death and all the exhaustion raising a child costs made him stop seeing himself as a sexual being for a long time. And after he’d come to terms with the loss of his wife and after Tommy had grown up, he’d been so certain of spending the rest of his days in forced chastity that certain urges just faded away over time.

And then… then Tommy made his body remember he’s a man.

It’s quite strange how, after such a long period of abstinence, James’ own libido has become just as intense and demanding as his teenage son’s. He can never get enough of Tommy, tries his best to avoid him during the day in fear he might lose control over himself or that the way his gaze glues to him will reveal their secret.

“If you don’t mind, would you please undress–––” requests James with a smirk––– “ _to the belt?_ ”

Pleased with the direction their game just took, Tommy zips down his jumpsuit to the waistband of his boxers before taking off his undershirt.

A flash of pride makes James chest swell when he sees his marks from last night are still present. The rosy trail of where he kissed and bit on Tommy’s fair skin, too, reminds him of the scratches and bites the other left on _him_.

The prickle’s back, this time not just in his digits but also in his groin.

 _Patience, James,_ he thinks. _Just keep him on the tenterhooks a little longer._

Reluctantly, he turns his gaze off the tempting sight to search the bag in which most of his medical equipment is stored.

“Did anyone ever tell you that you're a real treat to the eyes, Doctor?” coos it from behind him. “Would you mind lifting your coat a bit? I want to take in the view”

James is glad the other can’t see him, otherwise he’d be quite embarrassed by his blush.

“Trying to wheedle some free Med-X out of me, are you?” he says and fails to sound unaffected. Tommy snickers and then a sudden pat to his rear makes James freeze.

“Actually, I’m hoping for a different kind of prescription”

_I locked the door, did I? Of course I did. God, I hope Almodovar found more than one piece of gum._

A nervous cough escapes him when Tommy rubs his pelvis against him, even through the thick fabric of their jumpsuits he can feel his son stiffening.

Fuck, they’ve never switched places yet, but the imagination alone…

“You should go and sit down again,” he hears himself say and James is amazed by how his mouth can water and his throat can dry at the same time. “You’re in pain, right? In most cases movement does not go well with that”

“If that’s what you say, Dr. Tacy,” retorts the younger man innocently and James is almost disappointed he follows the command.

Wait. Why is he looking for his otoscope again?

 _This is a game_ , internalizes James. _So ignore the routine and don’t do anything unless it’s sexy. Are otoscopes sexy?_

No, they are not, he realizes and lets the otoscope fall into the bag. Instead he grabs the _stetho_ scope like he had first intended.

He takes a deep breath before he turns around to face his patient. Tommy’s leering at him from under long lashes. James’ gaze automatically wanders down his tempting lips and along his bare chest, stopping at the birthmark next to his navel, then he closes his eyes just before they could’ve rested on what is between the other’s carelessly spread legs.

 _It’s wrong_ , manages his conscience to reach through to him once more. Everything about this is wrong and fucked up beyond any sort of forgiveness he can expect to ever be granted, no matter how much he prays and tries to repent, he’ll never be able to forget that. He’ll never be cleansed.

James shakes the thought off like a leech stuck to his skin.

“Now take slow, deep breaths, okay?” he says before he presses the stethoscope to Tommy’s chest. Something he enjoys about their new bond is how all of a sudden his son seems to listen to him. How the little rascal melts away under his touch and reveals a secret, soft side underneath, one which likes the guidance of his father and follows his instructions happily, just like in this very moment.

“Good boy,” he mutters, gently raking through the other’s chestnut hair. It’s as if Tommy’s heartbeat is drilling through his ears and straight into his soul. And the sweet, tender smile on his one and only’s face makes James want to run away with him and show him the sky and the sea.

Ever since he felt that little heart beating when he first held Tommy in his arms, so small and vulnerable, James has known his life would no longer be worth living should it ever stop to. He’d do everything for Tommy without even a second of hesitation, everything to keep him safe and sheltered from the godless world which took his mother.

No, on second thought, the sun and the sky are just not worth it when they’re merely silver linings in the vortex of death and despair above.

James presses a kiss to the younger man’s lips and gets caught off guard when he almost chokes on Tommy’s tongue. Fingers clutch at his coat and a leg hugs around his waist, and for a moment James gives in, kisses back and enjoys it until he breaks away.

“Your heartbeat’s alarmingly fast,” he pants, having fallen back into his role immediately.

“I have a guess about why it is that way, doc”

The expression on his patient’s face is priceless – if James had a camera he’d make a picture. Naturally he wouldn’t be able to put it on his desk or hang it on the wall right next to the framed bible quote in his office without earning strange looks and an interrogation with Officer Gomez, but he’s tempted to say it’d be worth it.

“How about cutting back on meat for a while?”

“I don’t think that would be in _your_ interest,” mutters Tommy sulkily, crossing his arms and looking as offended as he hasn’t been ever since Mr. Brotch told him he’s too old to take part in the annual Math Magician competition.

The younger man pokes his tongue out at him pertly when James dares to crack a grin.

Resisting is getting more and more difficult. James’ blood feels hot and throbbing in his veins and he’s thankful he’s somehow remained flaccid until now. They’re getting there, but the other isn’t as needy as he wants him to be for it. There’s still too much of the usual arrogance in his son’s eyes, the brazenness James is so tired of because he knows _that isn’t Tommy_ , perhaps on the surface but not at the core.

Only a little more, just a few more teases and taunts to get him hard, perhaps he will even be able to make him beg for it…

James quickly replaces the thought causing his vault suit to start feeling unpleasantly tight with memories of performing mammographies on Old Lady Palmer. It takes a moment until he’s cooled down from the slight high and can continue playing his suave doctor persona.

“Let’s check on your muscular tissue, shall we?” he proposes and Tommy raises an eyebrow.

“I told you I have an urologic problem and until now you’ve solely examined my _upper_ body. Dr. Tacy, I fear I’m starting to doubt your knowledge of your own technical terms”

“Don’t worry, I’m quite aware what meaning the word ‘urologic’ holds,” retorts James and lifts one of Tommy’s slender arms, squeezing here and there to inspect the poor muscle tissue he has. “Just leave it to the professional”

With bitterness he observes that Tommy is hardly in the shape to hypothetically spent hours walking the wastes with a bag of supplies on his back and a gun in his hand, not to mention the necessity of heavy weaponry once one reaches the DC area. Even Catherine’s arms were stronger and thicker compared to their son’s – and she had a small and delicate frame for a wasteland woman.

Once he’s checked on the second arm, James moves on to his patient’s shoulders. Firmly his digits press down on the muscles just where Tommy’s back begins, causing his son to groan in pain.

This time it isn’t faked.

It’s like a switch flips in James’ brain. Within a split second he’s completely forgotten about their little roleplay.

Not giving a damn about breaking character, he asks, “It was one of those shifts again, wasn’t it?”

Tommy just nods, puts on a crooked smile.

While being the only halfway satisfying outlet for his inventive mind, his job in Maintenance can be a real burden on Tommy, too. Stanley’s old and more than glad to get at least partially relieved from his stressful duties by making Tommy do the hardest. And Almodovar is more than glad to keep his future – and as of yet unaware of it – son-in-law exhausted enough to hopefully break his seditious spirit one day, of course only as long as he remains capable of producing fresh DNA for the vault once said day has come.

It’s almost like the Overseer gives Stanley instructions on what kind of work Tommy’s supposed to do each day.

After he’s had a hassle with the Tunnel Snakes or shown blueprints for another invention to the other dwellers or dared criticize Almodovar, Tommy tends to get showered with all kinds of strenuous tasks. Only when Amata – god bless the girl – complains to her daddy it’s mean of him to load so much work onto her best friend (and only when _Amata_ does that the old bastard listens. James tried appealing to the perhaps existing better nature of the Overseer countless times, both as a physician and a concerned parent, but in the worst case Tommy was given even more duties) or when he’s bed-stricken his son is granted a break once in a while.

But sadly Tommy acted up like crazy the last couple of months, and while this phase has thankfully passed now, the Overseer continues to make him pay for it. Until now had James assumed it’s finally over, since his son hasn’t complained about headaches or sore muscles _or_ acted up in quite a while, but as it turns out assuming Tommy – Vault 101’s genetic future and at the same time one of the biggest thorns in Almodovar’s flesh – could ever be granted a healthy stint is just too idealistic of a concept.

“He really shouldn’t treat you like this,” notes James, then touches his poor boy’s cheek affectionately. There’s no need to even say his name or his title.

“It’s okay, I’m used to it,” replies his son, chuckling when James kisses his forehead.

“You know what? Forget the stupid game and let me make you feel good,” utters James before he walks around the examination table.

This time he touches the other’s shoulders most gently, rubs in slow circles down his spine. Tommy’s muscles feel like they’re made of concrete and it’s no surprise his massage makes the younger man gasp.

“Fuck,” mutters his son. “Please, don’t stop”

“Only if you tell me to,” replies James as he kneads the flesh between the boy’s scapulas.

Standing there, he feels a sting in his heart as he remembers all the times Tommy showed up at the clinic with a real ache and not a made-up one.

Back then when that whole charade had been going on, James got fed up with his son’s sudden – and for him at the time inexplicable – hypochondria after a while and had refused to doctor him unless something was actually wrong with him… and unfortunately Tommy had followed his advice, but not the way James had intended.

Since he was a kid his son has been having the occasional brawl with the DeLoria boy and his gang every now and then, but for a couple of months, before he’d revealed his true feelings to James, fights between Tommy and the Tunnel Snakes had happened on a drastic level.

Almost every day his son would sit on this very examination table with tears in his eyes while James treated his injuries, trying to swallow the immense anger he felt knowing his child had been hurt.

Split lips, cuts and bruises all over his body, black eyes and the worst had been a sprained ankle. Butch and his entourage on the other hand always got away with barely a scratch, which was strange, considering Tommy takes up more of a fight usually. That and the frequency of these incidents had raised James’ concern.

So he’d used his wasteland skills and followed his unsuspecting son around, watched him throw sharp-tongued insults at Butch until the greaser’s short fuse blew and punches rained upon him. Such sights James is sadly used to. 

He can sort of understand why Tommy found a liking in getting bullied once he got older. Having arch-enemies causes drama after all, and drama is the best way of fighting the omnipresent monotony of Vault 101. Nowadays the boy enjoys the Tunnel Snakes’ abuse as if it’s entertainment.

No, what had been so shocking about said discovery was how indifferently Tommy had let his bullies’ fists clash into his body. He’d even encouraged them to punch him harder, said Old Lady Palma could give better uppercuts than them and questioned if they really had snakes and not tunnels in their pants. His son even laughed when Wally and Paul grabbed his arms and put him into a standing position, and just before Butch would’ve kneed Tommy’s groin, James had stepped in.

Naturally Tommy had dodged all questions about his self-destructive behavior, no matter how much James tried to reach through to him, until two weeks later during a lonely moment in the clinic, just like the one they’re having now, when his son had confessed his longings and attempted to kiss him.

Since then James feels like an idiot for not having it noticed sooner.

It all makes perfect sense to him now.

Because how could Tommy have gotten his father to brush his thumb over his lips if it hadn’t been coated with ointment?

How could he have gotten his father to put a hand on his hip if it hadn’t been to apply a bandage?

How could he have gotten the extra hugs and gentleness if his father’s heart hadn’t ached with compassion for his poor injured baby boy?

And how could he have gotten his father to pull down his pants and touch his member if not to check for damage, had Butch not been prevented from unknowingly playing into his hands?

Sadness washes over James at the memory. To what lengths the other had gone just for a little intimacy, so desperate he got himself hurt just for his touch.

He’s so lost in thought, so lost in massaging Tommy’s tense back and easing his pain, he doesn’t notice how the little groans of relief turn into moans.

Only after a particularly long gasp escapes his son’s throat, James perks up his ears.

When he leans over Tommy’s shoulder, the younger man doesn’t stop rubbing the palm of his hand against the bulge in his jumpsuit, just shoots a coy look at him and rests his pretty head on the crook of James’ neck.

“Come on,” mutters his son before he plants a kiss on his cheek, “Stop playing hard to get. You don’t want me to have good time without you now, do you?”

There’s a frustration to the boy’s voice, for a moment he even wants to believe Tommy isn’t a hundred percent sure this going to end with James touching him the way he wants to anymore – an incredibly silly assumption, of course.

He’s tired of teasing. Tommy had to go through enough today and so has James himself. Release is what they need, it’s why they’re having this relationship after all. Release from the dullness of their lives, from being strangers to everyone except each other.

Slowly James’ fingers creep along the other’s thigh to replace Tommy’s hand with his own, grabbing as much of him as he can through the thick blue fabric.

The younger man hisses when James moves against his crotch in circling motions. And unlike what James knows would be the _right_ thing to feel, his son’s hot breath in his ear and the way he bucks into his hand causes a wave of arousal to wash over his body, makes his throat tighten and his skin crawl in an unjustly fantastic way.

He can’t fight letting out a low groan when he starts rubbing his clothed erection against Tommy’s back, slightly amused by the fact he’s been on the other side of this position merely a few minutes ago.

But it’s not enough. The awkward reach-around makes his motions clumsy, he can barely see the other’s face, too, can’t even really feel him through the hazy blue wall separating them.

It’s not satisfying. It just reminds him of what their relationship _used_ to be like. Secret cravings, touches on the borders of decency, wishing to let go and rip it off, yet too afraid of soiling the purity underneath.

A few months ago this would’ve been the fulfillment of all their rotten wishes, but they’ve outgrown those, just like they’ve outgrown their safe rituals, just like they’ve outgrown the vault.

Tommy whimpers as James, whose heart jumps at the reaction, withdraws his hand.

“ _Don’t_ toy with me like this,” once more these slender fingers clutch at his lab coat, wonderfully desperate this time. “It’s not nice if _you_ do that!”

His voice’s as soaked with boldness as his clothes are with machine oil, however, that’s all show by now, a failed attempt at hiding how much he loves falling into his arms and being taken. It’s easier, usually, winkling out this endearing person James used to believe he lost many, many years ago, but that’s because of the darkness. In the darkness James is free of the guilt spreading in his soul like a malign tumor and Tommy is free of what he so firmly believes to be his true self.

Tenderly he rests one hand on his son’s stomach, dipping a finger into his belly button and not even needing to look to know another is resting just on that cute birthmark. He buries his nose in the boy’s hair, takes a deep inhale. These days it’s like the cedar wood scent of Tommy’s shampoo is the only thing which keeps James from forgetting what trees are.

“Doctor’s going to take care of you,” nuzzles James against his son’s scalp, though the mess of brown curls on Tommy’s head swallows most of his wording. He loves it when his hair is unkempt like this, just like last night. “Just lie down and let him soothe the ache”

Somehow James forgot the coldness of his clinic until he has separated from Tommy. With shaky legs he walks over to his bag one last time while the other makes himself comfortable on the examination table, eyeing him with curiosity.

His son tilts his head and raises a brow when James turns around and he notices his latex clad hands. Thankfully he rarely has to put on gloves when examining Tommy and the reason he’s wearing them now is far from professional.

He’s always considered his son’s unusual fascination with textures most interesting. The boy treats the machinery in the vault’s guts with a certain kind of care, traces his fingers along weld seams and rolls screws between his digits, enjoys holding and twisting cables and even weirdly pets Andy occasionally. He’s doing it less now that he’s an adult, it’s become embarrassing to him, so James’ heart jumps with happiness when he sees Tommy’s face lighting up as he realizes what’s on his mind.

He wonders what kind of stimuli his gloved hands will make the other experience.

Tommy shivers and his eyes flutter shut when one of said hands touches his cheek.

“You’re beautiful. I think no matter how often I tell you that, it’ll never be enough”

“Doesn’t mean you should stop trying though,” replies his son, the smile playing around the corners of his mouths so blissfully missing the usual narcissism.

“You’re right with that,” chuckles James.

Latex ghosts over the other’s chest, draws a circle around his navel, then creeps under the waistband of his underpants, only to quickly retreat back to his chest.

James rubs his thumb over a pink nipple and the pleading noise the little action elicits makes him once again proud to be the only one capable of arousing Tommy.

“I’m going to make love to you”

Making love, that’s what it is. Not sex, not even anywhere near the f-word.

Any of the other two would reduce their actions to mere primitive instincts, would eradicate the fact everything James does is out of affection, that giving the other pleasure is his only priority.

No, he’s _making love_ to him, just like he had done to his mother.

He had made love to Catherine before he’d whispered his first confession into her ear, had made love to her on their wedding night in that tiny motel room in Rivet City, and one time he had made love to her and conceived their wonderful son. Tommy.

‘Making love’ is a much nicer term than ‘incest’, too. It creates the phantom of sacredness, conceals how self-indulgently he takes pleasure from what they do, allows him to harbor illusions that being the surrogate of a lover might make up for the fate he chose for his son.

With a swift motion he frees Tommy’s cock from his briefs. Due to the latex James can barely feel how slick it is with precome. Slowly he circles the tip with his thumb, coating it with the boy’s arousal until his fingers are slippery enough that he’s sure it won’t hurt when he carefully pulls back Tommy’s foreskin.

His son draws in a sharp breath at the contact. James wonders if this scenario has ever been part of what Tommy fantasizes about, if this is what he had hoped to achieve by getting kneed by Butch.

“Is this the ‘ache’ you’ve been complaining about?” James gives the cock in his grasp a light squeeze. The reaction he gets is much stronger than usual. Perhaps it’s due to all the teasing or maybe the gloves _are_ really doing it for Tommy.

“Hmm, yes,” replies the younger man with a nod.

“Does it hurt when I do this?” another squeeze, slightly firmer this time.

“No. Not at all,” Tommy shakes his head enthusiastically. “But I think you’re onto something there, doctor”

The third squeeze is tighter than he’d intended, while the groan Tommy blurts out sounds like he’s enjoying it far more than he’d expected.

“Gee, Dr. Tacy, you’re really as good as they say,” pants his patient with a crooked smile. “This must be the right treatment. I can already feel myself healing”

It’s interesting how easily they slip out of their roles and then into them again. The game makes James feel more secure, more comfortable in his own skin, and yet all he wants is to cause the other to break character with his touch.

He makes his and Tommy’s lips lock. The boy tastes of the probably delicious lasagna James missed and of Nuka Cola, and for some reason he finds that strangely pleasant. Not breaking their kiss for even a split second, he begins pumping the other with long, steady strokes.

Tommy lifts his pelvis and bucks into his grasp like he’s been waiting for it for a hundred years, a feeling James can easily relate to.

A primal, selfish part of him wants to zip down his jumpsuit, bend his son over the examination table and thrust into him until he’s spent. But Tommy has gone through enough pain already, and while it would surely be pleasurable for him, as well, James can’t think of anything else which could make a second shift in Maintenance worse for him other than a sore ass.

So he ignores the maddening sensation of his hard-on straining against his clothing, his testicles so tight it borders on pain, the only kind of friction he gets being the backside of his zipper rubbing up and down his manhood.

It’s difficult but one of the many benefits James holds over Tommy’s age-mates is the ability of being able to hold his arousal way longer than he could when he was younger and instead focus on pleasuring his partner. That and a vast field of experience, far beyond awkwardly groping and fumbling around in hope it’s going to somehow get the other person off.

Needing a breather, James breaks the kiss, which gives Tommy enough room to bite his lip with a low groan as the pace of the latex-clad hand around his length increases.

“Oh–––oh god–––“he hisses, finger nails failing to dig through the table’s thin leather cover––––“O––oh god, dad”

Flushed cheeks turn pale at once, teal eyes spring open and glare at James with an apologizing expression.

It’s an unspoken rule of theirs not to mention, not to remind themselves of the obvious, unforgettable and devastating fact that they are father and son, parent and offspring, sinners, disgusting, sick, not meant to be, whenever they are alone.

It’s hard enough as it is already, although James has a feeling it’s really just him who suffers from it.

So in private, Tommy doesn’t address him by the words he has lost all privilege to be called. ‘Dad’ or any similar terms just make James want to punch himself in the face.

However, he hates how ashamed Tommy becomes every time one of those accidentally slips from his tongue, as if he fears calling James by what he is will make him break it off.

“It’s okay, hun,” he says, brushing a sweaty strand of brown hair out of the other’s face. “You can call me whatever you want, it’s fine”

That’s a lie, but James hopes the boy will believe it anyway. He just wants to absorb all the shame and guilt so none of it can ever reach Tommy.

It’s solely his fault this is happening, it’s his fault their relationship is ruined beyond repair and their feelings have shifted into abnormality. It’s solely his fault his son came to desire him, because if it wasn’t for this time capsule they live in, Tommy would be seeking love elsewhere. Or maybe he would already be dead, scrunched between the wasteland’s fangs and digesting in its intestines.

Color returns to the younger man’s face when James kisses his forehead.

The feel of his frantic pulse, the outlines of thin bulging veins, his skin so sticky and boiling hot, all in his grip.

 _He’s mine_. The thought is arousing, so consumptive and so goddamn wrong. James is the only one allowed to touch, the only one who knows the sound of these beautiful moans and gasps Tommy’s making, the only one who has kissed his lips rosy and swollen and has made his member throb and leak in his hand.

A pair of arms clutches him, pulls him in for a desperate kiss. Fingers bury themselves in James’ greying hair as the younger man’s chest rises and falls at a rapid pace, then he can feel Tommy breathing heavily against his mouth.

He won’t last much longer, the movements of James’ gloved hand around his aching cock are dragging him closer and closer to the edge with every pump.

“Fuck–f–fu––fuck,” gasps his son, throwing back his head so James can nibble at his exposed throat, leaving some more marks on what is his.

All of a sudden the other pulls at his hair roughly, making James face him and see the warm smile directed at him, the half shut aquamarine eyes with the wide pupils. It’s beautiful, so beautiful it’s worth all the remorse which torments James whenever he’s away from him.

Ever since his paternal affection reached the forbidden extent, he’s been addicted to every spark of honesty he can elicit from the boy. It’s only in moments like these that he feels like he actually has his son back, that Tommy is still somewhere inside this jaded, cold-hearted thing he’s become, what the vault made of him… what _James_ made of him.

A loud, clear whimper echoes through the clinic as Tommy’s taken by his orgasm, body shivering all over as he releases himself into James’ fist, searching for hold and finding it in his coat, tearing at the lapel in the process.

He holds onto James tightly, even after the trembling has stopped and the afterglow has kicked in. He presses his free hand to Tommy’s back while letting go of him with the other. The latex makes it hard to discern and James can’t look at the stickiness coating his palm right now, so he can only wonder just how much of it there really is. It feels like a lot.

His attention is drawn to other matters when Tommy nuzzles his neck.

He feels his son smiling against his skin.

“God, I love you, dad,” he says, voice feeble and soft, barely capable of forming sentences in the state he’s in. “Love you so much”

Despite everything, these three words continue to fill James’ heart with nothing but pure joy every time they’re said.

“I love you too, my son,” he hasn’t called him like this in what feels like a lifetime. Like vinegar the word ‘son’ trickles down his throat and makes his stomach turn, but it’s what Tommy needs right now. He needs to know that James isn’t mad at him for being just as confused by how they’re supposed to act as him.

With a long sigh the boy sinks back down on the table, pulling James with him and making him struggle to remain standing.

“You know, I never lied when I sat here, never made something up,” mutters his flesh and blood. “I… did have that ache, had it for a long time. Longing and wishing for nothing more than for you to touch me, all while the fear of what might happen should you ever find out followed me like a shadow. I was so confused and the more time passed, the more demanding my desires became, the more it hurt bottling them up and pretending they didn’t exist. So I began pushing the boundaries, was surprised by how far I could go, and the pain finally lessened. And yet I couldn’t stop pressing forward into forbidden territory, because at some point I discovered you had the same ache all along”

The other’s embrace keeps him no longer captive, wearily his son’s hands glide down James’ back and rest at his sides. However, he remains caught in Tommy’s sphere. It’s like every muscle of his body is constricted, preventing him from moving or saying something, all he can is listen.

“And then… I know it sounds silly, but ever since our first night it’s as if I’ve become free as a bird. Suddenly nothing bugs me anymore. Not work, not Butch and the other idiots, not even the Overseer’s bullshit. It’s just not worth getting fed up with anymore. The hours seem to pass faster, too, because all I do is think about working on my inventions and – most importantly – spending time with _you_ once I’m done with my shift. Not like I didn’t do that earlier but… you know what I mean”

They don’t talk much about how they truly feel, just relish sharing these forbidden moments and affections.

Getting Tommy to let his guard down and speak from his heart is an art which James has only now gained the comprehension to learn, even though he’s always possessed the passion and willingness to.

Funny, how they both can’t be apart without ghosting around in each other’s thoughts. Just that in Tommy’s case it’s an entirely positive distraction.

“I think you _cured_ me. Not just from the secret I carried around, but from something else too, something I cannot put into words,” the tips of their noses touch and Tommy rubs his against James’, a little like in the old days when his son was a child and he would shower him with cuddles and smooches.

Of course the emotion the gesture makes James experience has changed drastically ever since, especially when it’s paired with such lovely words.

_Words I am undeserving of._

“Your presence, your voice, your laugh, your scent, your body pressed close to mine, the sensation of having you inside me–––“whispers the other against his parted lips, digits tenderly brushing over his beard––– “You’re my medicine, James”

Hearing Tommy say his name is like a spell – bewitching and strange and making him want to fulfill the boy’s every wish.

Isn’t that what this is all about even? Making Tommy happy?

There’s no need to say it out loud for James to know their incestuous affair somehow lifted the grey veil which had hung above his son for so many years. The raddled, embittered teenager he’d felt estranged from appears to have vanished into thin air. In his place is now a young man full of energy, chipper and gabby like never before.

And in spite of his heavy conscience, James is happy like he hasn’t been in perceived centuries, as well.

Because being his lover, escaping from all the drabness with him and finding solace in sharing intimacy they’re both so in need of, allows him to believe that maybe he didn’t make the wrong choice, that perhaps his affection will make Tommy become content with the life he’s destined to have.

Destined to have in the vault, that is.

To be honest, James doesn’t feel like the medicine easing his son’s illness at all, but more like the pathogen responsible for it.

So he has no idea what to say, since of course Tommy isn’t aware his confession just fueled James’ self-doubt instead of enlivening him.

He imagines locking those thoughts into the cage, then securing it with yet another big padlock.

“I’m glad you told me, Tommy,” he mutters. It’s true, even if it hurts sometimes, having the other confide in him means the world to him.

“I bet you are,” the usual sass erases the vulnerability from the younger man’s face, signalizing his post-orgasm sentimentality is drained for today.

James regains control over his body when he’s reminded of how insufferably hard he still is. He’s soaked in sweat, as well, he notices, and while erotic at first, now the heat between him and his son feels sweltering and wrong.

Contrary to what certain primitive instincts suggest, James ineptly takes a step away from Tommy, shedding his ruined gloves in the process. He throws them into a nearby garbage bin. Even if somebody should be nosey and venturesome enough to dig through all the medical waste and find them, the only conclusion they could possibly make is that James has a weird fetish.

 _No reason for suspicion, no reason for worrying,_ he assures himself.

After wiping the shiny layer of sweat off his forehead, James takes a deep breath. The area of his crotch is overwhelmed with a mix of pain, numbness and excitement.

He looks down at the clearly recognizable erection confined by his jumpsuit. God, he needs to get rid of this blue-yellow nightmare or otherwise he’s going to suffocate.

Something heavy presses against his back, something light touches his hips.

Instinctively James turns around and regrets it, after all Tommy’s hands are perfect for finally setting free all the tension built up in his body.

“Oh, Dr. Tacy, after such a thorough treatment I’d feel bad for not recompensing you for your efforts,” murmurs his son, toying some with the zipper resting on James’ collarbone.

“Oh please,” croaks James as the zipper glides down his chest, “Health care’s always free by vault regulations. There’s no need for you to, uh, pay me”

“Jesus Christ, you’re too fucking modest for your own damn good,” grumbles Tommy. His fingers slip underneath James’ singlet, like a spider they scuttle up his skin before curling into his chest hair. “Those ungrateful shitheads don’t pay you enough respect for what you do for them anyway, so at least let _me_ give you some appreciation for once”

James’ humility quickly takes its leave when a slight pull to his chest hair is accompanied by Tommy forcing him to take a step back.

Without a word of protest he lets the other push him against the wall, despite being well aware that anyone passing by the clinic’s windows would now have a pretty good angle on their in no way familistic closeness.

“Congratulations, citizen! You have just been honored with the Vault’s Sexiest Physician Award!” chirps the boy in an upbeat tone of voice. “You can now choose one of three rewards which include: a set of Truly American Communism-fighting Oven Mittens for Proud Patriots, a candlelight dinner with the Overseer and an orgasm!”

 _Do we still have time for this?_ pipes up what’s left of James’ common sense before he can make the obvious decision.

He shoots a glance at the clock on the opposite side of the room. Apparently 30 minutes have passed since he started ‘examining’ his patient. The vault’s ‘get the hell back to work’ bell should’ve rung 15 minutes ago. Normally the bell ends what little lunch break they all have dead on time, James suspects even a few minutes earlier on some occasions.

He wonders how something as petty as chewing gum could make and is still continuing to make Almodovar ignore the regimented schedule he’s running.

The last time the bell had had a delay was on Easter 2271, after an egg with a painted on Vault Boy had been placed underneath the Overseer’s chair cushion by an to this day unidentified culprit, which of course made Almodovar lose his shit in an excessive, lengthy homily and ruined the festivities for everyone (and despite no actual proof having ever turning up, people continue to suspect said incident to be the Tunnel Snakes’ doing. Except for James, who’s pretty sure it was Tommy’s revenge for having to wear the awful bunny costume during said year’s Easter play). If whatever’s going on in the diner is just the tiniest bit similar to this, they might have time to get it on three more times. Purely hypothetically speaking, of course.

With a lascivious smirk James tugs at Tommy’s collar the same way the other had done to his lapel, then rocks his pelvis against his son in hope of making his attention shift to things more important than acting.

“Orgasm it is then,” comments Tommy. “Personally, I would’ve chosen the oven mittens – but who am I to judge?”

The chuckle James lets out is quickly silenced by a peck. Before he can even comprehend what’s happening, his son has sunk down to his knees and drawn him out of his boxers.

“Tommy, if that’s wha–––”

He can’t even finish what was supposed to become an admonition. When the other’s tongue circles his tip, he robs James of the words meant to be in place of the frustrated groan.

He hasn’t given Tommy a blow job or received one from him yet, not because he wouldn’t be into it, but because there’s something especially defiling about fantasizing of having his son kneeling in front him and shoving his cock down his throat or – in reverse – wanting to suck Tommy off and have him come in his mouth.

Fellatio is an act a lot less tender, less pure than the slow, gentle lovemaking they’ve had as of yet. And James fears what might happen should he fully give in to his primitive instincts, if he were forced to finally admit to himself that, whilst wonderful and fulfilling, what they do to each other is still filthy and sick at its core.

“Tommy,” it’s a pathetic plead, a not really meant one on top of it.

His hands rest on the younger man’s shoulders. If James wanted to, he could easily shove him off and tell him to never do this again, but there’s no sense in pretending there’s anything left to save from desecrating.

James’ muscles relax as he allows himself to enjoy the prickling sensation of his son’s tongue licking along his shaft experimentally, making him lose the ability to speak and think coherently once and for all.

Even if James didn’t know so already, there’s no doubt that Tommy hasn’t done anything like this before. His movements are curious and without pattern, a tentative lick here and a light kiss there, but never does he stick to a technique long enough to bring James’ arousal to a climax.

When he dares looking down at the gorgeous sight nestled between his legs, he discovers Tommy’s watching him intently, observing how his motions make his father shudder and pant, trying to figure out what he especially enjoys.

He often feels as if the boy keeps notes on what he likes in bed, as if he maps his erogenous zones the same way he does with the structure of a machine after he’s taken it apart. James can’t help himself but be immensely flattered by this, how pleasing him has become Tommy’s biggest fascination.

At this point ‘ _Tommy_ ’ is no longer a warning or a plea but a moan uttered with clenched teeth, silenced by the back of his hand as the boy’s tongue swirls around his glans.

James slowly slides down the wall, legs becoming as wobbly as jello and too weak to keep him up straight when soft lips wrap around his girth.

It’s almost unbearable how much time it takes for Tommy to start moving and how much self-control it demands from James to remain static and not thrust into his son’s mouth.

When Tommy does though, it’s pure salvation.

Desperately, James grabs a handful of his son’s hair for support. It’s still too slow, way too slow and the only reason he manages to resist pushing the younger man down his length is by letting out his frustration on his lower lip.

If he was able to, Tommy would certainly make a mischievous comment right now, probably something relating to their doctor-patient personas or this silly ‘award’ James apparently won.

_‘Are you enjoying my appreciation, Dr. Tacy?’_

_‘I’m sure you’re thinking about how the oven mittens wouldn’t have strung you along like this’_

But there’s no need for him to say such things, the way he provocatively moves up and down his cock is enough taunting on its own.

“Faster,” James rasps, caught between needing release so badly and giving his best to last as long as he can at the same time, the first want growing stronger and stronger while the second gets all the more difficult to maintain.

Something tells James this is the payback for letting Tommy wait so long for it, for the other does the exact opposite of what he requested. James hisses when cold air hits his prick as Tommy lets go of him, a devilish grin on his lips.

And then he just stares at him, eats up James’ unsatisfied cravings with a tight grip around his leaking manhood.

If this was ever really a game to begin with, Tommy just clearly won it.

“Please,” he begs his cruel lover, “I need you”

For a moment he’s certain it’s not enough, not enough to satisfy his ego. Any other time James would’ve been bothered by that, but in his condition he would praise Tommy to the skies he’s never seen without hesitation.

However, when the smirk broadens and he finally takes him in again, it’s like a dream come true.

 _I’m his and only_ his _too_ , he realizes.

Until he begun aching, James never wasted a single thought on being intimate with someone else after Catherine, and at this point he still holds no desire to be together with someone again – except for Tommy, that is. Of course his son is well aware of that. Tommy holds the privilege of knowing things about James nobody else does, of being the only person who can delude him with his touch and make his body shudder with bliss, just like right now.

His pleas have been answered, for Tommy is working out just the right pace, the right pattern to drive him into a sensual frenzy.

The boy becomes more and more daring, takes him in deep and then withdraws, while studying how James loses more and more of his composure.

Having given in to the pleasure reluctantly and cautious before, now James desperately holds the younger man’s head in position, not wanting to ever let go.

“Careful there, son.” he cautions when the other’s teeth scrape over his skin a tad too hard. Tommy acknowledges the hint with what could perhaps be a nod and James forbids himself to register _what_ he just called him, and especially in what kind of _situation_ he just called him like that.

He’s too far gone to care, too occupied with seeing stars and savoring the rush, knowing it’s only a matter of seconds until he’s going to reach that fantastic, electrifying, _nerve-wrecking_ high.

He can read it on Tommy’s face that he’s just as awestruck by the effect he has on him as James himself. His gaze is searching and clear, so prying James becomes ashamed of how good his own son’s mouth and tongue make him feel.

A sudden strike of conscience lets him seize Tommy by his hair and pull him off just before he reaches climax. When it dawns on James what a bad idea that actually is, it’s already too late.

Tommy’s eyes grow wide as semen spray over his face, to complete the disaster it’s also a far bigger amount than what James is used to – all thanks to the long wait.

He wants to push him away, do something, but they’re both too paralyzed by what’s happening to move even by an inch. All James can is watch until he’s finished, torn between the pleasure overpowering his body and the terror of helplessly committing a sacrilege.

After it’s finally, _finally_ over they just stare at one another in shock, incapable of progressing what just happened.

Tommy’s covered in it. It’s in his hair, on his nose, on his cheeks – a little bit is even stuck to his left brow.

James just wants to bang his head against the wall until he passes out – no, until he’s smashed his brains in and bled to death.

He’s frozen though, unmoving like somebody stuck him to the ground with wonderglue.

He’s unlearned how to blink, a skill he frantically wishes back when he sees _it_ running down his son’s face, dribbling off the tip of his nose to etch into the fabric of his jumpsuit. Like a serpent, a part of it slithers to his lips and James winces when Tommy instinctively licks it away, the innocent expression on the boy’s stained face making his heart pound like it’s about to shatter.

“I––I’m so––so sorry,” he grates, his voice feels shrill and alien and as if it doesn’t belong to him anymore. “So, so sorry”

He just wants to wipe all the shame, the disgrace from his son’s face, wants him to be clean and pure again. But even if he did, James knows he will never be able to undo defiling Tommy’s soul, will never be able to cleanse him from the sick love connecting them.

“So sorry… so sorry,” James can’t tell whom he feels sorry for – Tommy or himself.

The guilty thoughts rattle at the bars, his conscience screams and shouts, the memories of his wife and the mother of his child wail and snivel, his lies laugh clangorously.

His trembling fingers caress his son’s hair, sticky with sweat and sin.

Tommy gazes at him, his eyes are half closed and look so very peaceful in contrast to James’.

Slowly the other licks away the droplets around his mouth, then skims a finger over his brow, coating it with James’ come before sucking on it.

“You taste amazing,” Tommy says with a sweet, angelic smile which breaks the spell and causes James to fully slide down the wall until he’s sitting on the floor, the younger man between his spread legs.

He can’t breathe, can’t fight how incredibly erotic the other looks, messed up and licking off his arousal.

His son moves closer, so close James can feel his hot breath against his face as Tommy brings two fingers to his mouth this time.

He gets goose bumps all over when he sucks on them as well.

As if in a trance James watches Tommy slowly clean his face, both disgusted and aroused by what he’s made of the boy. If he wasn’t so weary already, he certainly would’ve gotten hard a second time.

After he’s done, Tommy kisses him, long and lovingly.

James is glad he isn’t crying.

The noises coming from the cage fall silent, all the emotions which pounced on him like a deathclaw fade away to be replaced by the warm fuzziness that unfolds in his belly and chest every time he’s near Tommy.

James is certain he could embrace him for eternity until a hardly melodic, static chime reminds them it’s time to return to their surreal lives in good ol’ Vault 101.

“You know what I just realized,” says Tommy, slipping on his undershirt, “you’ve touched the privates of _every_ person in this vault. Here. In this room. Every. Single. One.”

“You didn’t know about this until now?” replies James amused before zipping up his vault suit.

“Well, of course not. When I think about you as a doctor I think of diseases, injuries and therapy some of these imbeciles need like Butch needs a fist to his face, not about ‘big boy’ problems”

Admittedly, his son’s unawareness _shouldn’t_ surprise James.

He’s been… avoiding performing certain kind of exams on the other to this day. When Tommy reached the age such check-ups begin James had feared that kind of awkwardness would make them drift even further apart and… he can’t understand why he’d thought so.

He doesn’t feel embarrassed around the other vault dwellers, despite having seen them naked and thoroughly touched and inspected their genitalia – he’s a doctor after all –, and yet back then he’d felt as if he would never be able to look Tommy in the face again should…

“It’s true though, isn’t it? You’ve seen everyone in the nude?” asks his son only rhetorically. James still nods, despite the gesture being completely superfluous.

“Really?!” rejoices the younger man as James assists him in putting his jumpsuit back on. “God, _please_ tell me it’s not just a rumor that the Overseer has hemorrhoids!”

James takes doctor-patient confidentially very serious – usually. But considering they’re talking about the biggest fuckwad underground _and_ in light of the fact Tommy just ‘appreciated’ him, he’s going to make an exception.

“Yes, he does. And they’re as big as baseballs,” he unveils smugly, but is quick to add, “don’t tell anyone!”

“This is the best thing I’ve ever heard in my entire life,” gapes Tommy before dissolving into giggles.

James can’t help himself but join in, in fact he has to snicker so much it turns buckling his son’s belt into a tough challenge.

“Wait a moment… I’ve been struck by yet another flash of enlightenment!” exclaims the younger man after they’ve caught their breath. “This also means you’ve had your fingers in every guy’s bum, doesn’t it?”

Tommy’s eyes glimmer with anticipation, however, this time James confirms his theory much more reluctantly.

“Yeah…”

He sure hopes someone’s going to come in soon. Now that they’re dressed and James is more or less over his post-orgasm stage, he would very much appreciate this conversation to end before it can become even more graphic.

“Gross. And cool,” Tommy runs his fingers through his hair, trying to comb out the stickiness still left, which is fairly easy, given how sweaty it is from working and what they just did. However, there now is a third distinct scent among the cedar shampoo and machine oil, one James dearly hopes nobody’s going to notice. “But with this in mind, I’m wondering, who performs these exams on _you_? Jonas or somebody else?”

Okay, it’s too late. Now it’s become as embarrassing as possible.

“There… thankfully hasn’t been a need for this to be done yet”

He just could’ve dodged the damn question, could’ve also perfectly distracted the other with a lollipop from the jar in his office – James is a lot better at this normally. But instead he chose to be honest when it didn’t matter, perhaps to balance out all the times he wasn’t when it did.

“Dr. Tacy!” evokes his ‘patient’ as if James just said he eats babies for breakfast.

“I can’t believe what I’m hearing! You might be the medical faculty of this vault but that doesn’t mean you are above your own rules! Vault Boy would be _so_ disappointed in you!”

To this day James is bitter they abolished the mimicry contest after only the third performance. Tommy’s impression of Almodovar would have deserved the coupon for a free pedicure from Andy, if not more.

He missed _this_ , missed the Tommy who cracks jokes and laughs and beams with joy. He missed him so much James just _has_ to hug the other tightly, because God, he loves him even more this way.

“There, there. No need to get all touchy-feely,” replies the boy, patting James’ back. “I promise I won’t report you, you sly little scofflaw”

There’s an instance in which James wants to pick his son up and swing him around. It’s something he did to Catherine whenever he was reminded of how much he adored her, but neither is this his Catherine nor are his bones not weighed down by 20 years of hiding in the dirt.

“Imagine how great it would be if we could be together like this all day,” fantasizes Tommy. “In the end humans and robots aren’t that different from each other once you open them up – humans are just squishier. And given my exceptionally high IQ, reskilling would be a piece of cake – plus I’d look devastatingly handsome in a lab coat. _Two_ assistants you can order about, how’s that sound?”

“I _don’t_ order Jonas about,” corrects James, “and for the record, I wouldn’t order you about either”

“Of course you wouldn’t, I’m the slut who’s sleeping with the boss after all!”

James rolls his eyes. While amusing, their banter is taking a direction he doesn’t like. The obvious risk and distraction of working so close, plus the fact that Tommy would certainly laugh himself to death over very bit of medical information he’d discover about the dwellers and would use it to mock them, put aside, he can’t have his oh-so-curious son take a closer look at the clinic and discover what has been causing James to skip meals and go to bed late for over a decade.

“Tommy–––”

“Yeah yeah, save your breath,” grumbles the other and breaks their embrace. “I know that won’t ever happen. The Overseer definitely wouldn’t be sweet on the idea of me having the key to the chemistry closet or being anywhere near his body with sharp objects… and personally, I’m not sweet on the idea of having to perform a colonoscopy on Officer Taylor or explaining to little Monica what periods are or putting on a sympathetic face while Freddie chews my ear off with wailing about his sorry little life. In the end I might be just fine where I am in Maintenance. Machines are a lot less annoying and yucky than humans, that’s for sure”

The other tilts his head and gives James an unexpected, compassionate look.

“Turns out _you’ve_ been the one stuck with the shittier job all along. I’m _so_ sorry for you, except not really because it makes me feel a little better about myself”

Typical.

“Hey, but while I will sadly never compete with you for Vault’s Hottest Physician Award, that doesn’t mean I can’t help you out now and then,” says his son and makes their fingers intertwine. Within the blink of an eye all complacency has disappeared from the boy’s face and Tommy gives him a smile as sweet as sugar. “In fact I’d like to schedule a follow-up appointment, Dr. Tacy”

“A follow-up appointment?”

“Mhhmmmm,” Tommy murmurs, shifting from one foot to the other to fake shyness where none is. “I think it’s time everyone’s favorite medic catches up on some long overdue examinations. And I would be most honored to assist him”

“I think I’d like that,” replies James, squeezing the younger man’s hand.

Tommy greets his assistant with a quick ‘Hi, Jonas. Bye, Jonas’ on his way out of the clinic, barely hearable due to the lollipop he didn’t even bother asking James about before taking.

“Did he inhale too much rust proofer?” asks Jonas him as he watches Tommy strut down the hallway.

“No, he just really likes candy”

James is certain his son took more than one, too. His pockets looked awfully strained. At times Tommy acts like a big child, a not well-behaved one at that.

It upsets him sometimes, how his son can still be as egoistic and uncaring about other people as he was as a four-year-old – this kind of behavior might be of advantage in the wastes but in the vault it is the exact opposite.

However, judgement of this particular action would be hypocritical, since James regularly answers the irresistible call of the candy jar as well.

His assistant shrugs before he turns to checking their schedule for today.

“You made up, didn’t you?”

“Huh?” James flinches and looks up from the clipboard barely capable of sustaining all the papers it’s supposed to hold. He’s been too occupied with skimming over the notes he took during his last therapy session with Freddie Gomez (the boy is troubling James more and more ever since he got admitted into Butch’s gang. Out of an absurd belief in the other’s empathy, he once asked Tommy to hang out some with Gomez and get him away from the bad influence, but Tommy just said he has no interest in wasting his precious lifetime with being friends with a bore like Freddy) in preparation for the next to listen.

In fact, for a moment he was sure Jonas just asked him if he _made out_ with his son.

“You and Tommy – you made up?”

 _Thank the lord, my ears_ are _going bad._

“Pardon me, Jonas, but I don’t understand what you’re talking about”

“Oh, uh––– I just thought...“ utters his best friend abashed. “I thought you and Tommy are on bad terms lately”

“Why so?”

James draws a circle around a random word on the paper, feigning casualness to hide how nervous having Jonas talk about his relationship to his son makes him.

“Usually you two are as good as inseparable, but I’ve hardly seen you even in the same room together for quite a while now. I kind of assumed you’re on the outs with each other again”

Good thing his assistant doesn’t know he’s leaning against the wall _exactly_ where Tommy sucked his cock a couple of minutes ago.

“Well, there’s no reason for you to worry. Everything’s all right between me and Tommy,” replies James, sounding harsher than he intended. “Sorry, I guess I _do_ not spend as much time with him as I used to–––” _without taking off my clothes and f-wording his brains out_ –––“but you know how important working on the project has become to me lately”

He incidentally scribbles the familiar, haunting figure of Vault Boy giving him a thumbs-up. From where he’s standing James is convinced that Jonas must be thinking he’s busy, only halfway listening and totally calm inside and outside.

“So you _didn’t_ have a talk?”

“No. Tommy was just here for his usual check-up – you know how he is”

“Perhaps you _should’ve_ though,” remarks his friend lowly before adding, “Tommy isn’t sick or hurt, is he?”

“He could be better. Came here for a back rub from his old man. God, I could strangle you-know-who for making him drudge like this”

“ _Oh_ ,” echoes Jonas and James’ pen turns what was supposed to become Vault Boy’s mildly intimidating smile into a passive-aggressive pout.

“‘Oh’ what?” he wonders, unexpectedly nonchalant.

Jonas adjusts his glasses and gulps a little before he explains.

“Well, I suppose you don’t know it yet, but the Overseer _really_ lost his temper today. It was an eight out of ten snit fit, if you ask me. A bunch of people got extra duties and their ration coupons depleted and he even demoted Wally Mack to trash burner. Some snuck out in the middle of his speech, when he was over with it and noticed that he got pissed _again_ and we had to suffer through his preaching a second time. Tommy was one of those who left and I fear Almodovar won’t forgive him for it too easily, so I had hoped the reason he skulked off was something more important than a massage from his dad”

James lets go of the pen and rubs his temples with a frustrated groan.

_Perfect, just perfect. Now the stupid boy’s going to pay for this stupid, stupid game._

If only he hadn’t stood Tommy up… but he _has_ to finally find a solution to Project Purity or they’re never going to esc–––

“Fuck,” he curses, then turns towards his friend. “Do you think Almodovar’s going nuts? I mean, _fully_ nuts?”

“I’ve no idea,” admits Jonas. “All I can say is that I can’t wait until Amata takes the wheel”

“You’re not alone with that, pal,” replies James. The day Amata supersedes her looney father lies in the very far future though, for Overseer is an office passed along only after death or a revolt – and given the longevity and relative obedience of the vault dwellers, Alphonse Almodovar will continue to dictate them all what to do for a long time ahead.

 _And what’s gonna happen should the man lose what little marbles he has left someday?_ asks James himself cynically. Perhaps the vault could end up becoming just as dangerous for his son as the wasteland, perhaps it already is with James in it.

The silence between them reaches uncomfortableness, so Jonas returns to doing his own thing while James attaches another padlock to the cage.

“What happened to your coat?”

The attack is sudden, unexpected and James’ fingers convulse ever so slightly when he remembers his torn lapel, the victim of his offspring’s lust. It feels like someone shoved a ball of wire wool down his throat.

“Oh _that_. Guess I just got a little too close to Andy in the hallway,” he shrugs the question off, disgusted with himself for being such a barefaced liar.

“Okay,” Jonas turns away, forgetting the entire thing already like it’s no big deal. He doesn’t poke questions at James, doesn’t remember that until lunch break his lab coat had been in pristine condition, doesn’t infer that if Andy had really cut him, James would be bleeding through the spic and span fabric right now, doesn’t call him a nefarious deviant with a vile soul that should burn in hell for making love to whom he brought into this world.

A part of him wishes he would. Jonas should beat him up good, then drag him outside and leave him for the creatures of the wastes to feast on him.

It would finally put an end to it all – his failures, his lies, his guilt.

But then Tommy would be all alone and the vault would eat him up just as much, because even if it makes him hate himself for it more and more with each passing day, James is still his medicine.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy New Year! May it only let good things come your way :)
> 
> Thanks for reading and if you enjoyed the story, please let me know by leaving a kudo or a comment ♥


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